Ringmaster
by S J Smith
Summary: Drachma instituted alchemists battling in the ring. It's Edward's turn to enter it. Note: Alternate ending to the manga/Brotherhood series.
1. Ringmaster

**Title:** Ringmaster

**Author:** S J Smith

**Rating:** Teen

**Summary: **Drachma instituted alchemists battling in the ring. It's Edward's turn to enter it.

**Disclaimer:** No, no, I'm just a fangirl.

**Notes:** Thanks to Kalirush for her edits. Additionally, there may be more of this story, but don't hold your breath.

* * *

Something thundered on the next floor up, dust filtering down on Edward. He closed his eyes, trying to protect his vision. Next to him, Winry growled, and he could hear her arranging the sheeting to keep her work area somewhat dirt free. "These idiots don't know how delicate this equipment is. If your joints get gummed up with dust, or - " the words vanished into a low grumble that Edward didn't bother deciphering. He trusted Winry. She'd make sure his automail was in perfect condition. He just hoped she'd have time to finish the tune up before he got called into the ring.

Oh god, the ring. His stomach jumped with nerves and Edward pressed his flesh fingers over his mouth, trying to keep from vomiting.

"If you're going to be sick, I'll get a bucket," Winry said.

Edward raised his head to meet her eyes; then had to turn his own away. What he saw in Winry's gaze – fear, pity, rage – made his stomach twist tighter. Something else, too, that he didn't want to name. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile. "No. I'll be okay." He bent each of his automail fingers in sequence, saying with feigned irritation, "Are you almost done? I can't sit here all day."

"I know!" she snapped, and bent back over his open arm. The sharp twinge of a pinched nerve wire made Edward bite his tongue to keep from swearing at her. The pain subsided in a minute, but it still felt like his arm tingled. He almost reached out to touch the top of her head, but he didn't want to distract her, and made himself stay still.

How had all this happened - Drachma gaining control of Amestris? No, he knew that. How long had it been planned? Edward thought maybe the idea had been planted back when he was in the Briggs Mountains. When Kimbley disappeared, after Edward had fallen, almost to his death. He vaguely remembered Darius and Heinkel discussing it while he'd been recovering in that doctor's back room, that Drachma had their own alchemist. Maybe Kimbley; who knew for sure? But Kimbley'd said he wanted to watch, and let things play out between humans and the homunculi to see which one would wind up on top. Had that been a story? Or had he decided to throw in his lot with Drachma, and tell that country about the Promised Day, and how either Amestris would be destroyed completely, or those left over would be easy pickings?

Whatever it was, Drachma had been lying in wait, and, once the battle with Father was over, once it was fucking _safe_for Amestris again, Drachma had attacked. It hadn't even been hours after he'd defeated Father, and his – their – old man gave up his life to bring Alphonse's body back. Amestris was too stunned – too exhausted – to fight back, and now, now…

"Damn it!" Edward clenched his hands, the automail creaking.

"Hold still!" Winry snapped, pushing his right arm onto the bench again. Edward gritted his teeth and let her finish her work.

Alchemy was supposed to help people, but when Drachma took over the country, they'd instituted a new way for alchemists to 'serve'. Alchemists wore collars, and, when not training, were shackled and otherwise restrained. Even now, Edward couldn't block the sight of his trainer, watching him from outside his cell, making sure he didn't try to escape. Like he would – he knew what would happen to Alphonse – to Winry – if he attempted it. With them as hostages, there was no way he'd fall out of line. Alphonse was still too weak to protect himself, much less Winry.

She'd been found out in his military records – something the Drachmans were quick to make use of – and she and Pinako had been taken prisoner, too. He remembered when his master had shown up in the cells, a guard hauling a blond girl behind him. Sorgai had dragged Winry's head back by her hair, shoving her against the cell bars, hard enough to bruise.

"I have a present for you, Fullmetal. If you remember to behave yourself, I'll let you spend time with her, and let her take care of your brother, too." Edward had known what would happen to Alphonse and Winry if he wasn't cooperative, the collar tightening that much more around his neck.

Shaking his head of the memories, Edward tried to focus on the ring, on what would happen there in a few minutes. His stomach roiled, but he ignored it. He had to survive. He had to get past this. He had to be able to see Alphonse again. Edward had to know his little brother was whole.

Winry finished tightening the grill plate down on his automail arm. "I made it a little heavier," she said, stroking the metal. "The metal composition is the same, though. I wanted to give you a little extra reach." She didn't need to add 'if you need it in the ring', that was understood. "Our ma-" It took a few seconds for her to control her voice again, and she went on. "Our master insisted you be able to wear the knee and shin plate, too." Her hand moved to rest on Edward's metal knee cap. He imagined he could feel her shaking through that touch. Maybe it wasn't his imagination.

Edward smiled, covering her hand with his. "Thanks, Winry. You're the best."

She raised her eyes, and he swallowed hard at the tears caught in her lashes. Leaning forward quickly before he lost his nerve, he pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was rough, and hard, and he knew it wasn't very good, and his trainer laughed at the sight of it, making it even worse knowing the kiss would get back to his master – their master – and it'd be used against them. But Edward blotted all of that out to offer another kiss, softer this time, with Winry's chapped lips moving under his. Their foreheads touched and their breaths mingled, and he was sure he could taste the bitter sorrow in her mouth. He wondered what he tasted like – wasted potential? Hopelessness?

"Ed," Winry breathed, and all he could see was her eyes, and all the emotion caught up in them.

A roar shook the cell, the sound carrying away anything else. Edward caught hold of Winry, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. Was she shaking? Was he? He clung to her, wishing – _damn_it!

"Hey! Fullmetal. Let go of your girlfriend. It's time."

Slowly releasing Winry, Edward climbed out the chair. He took a deep breath, swallowing his nerves. His flesh hand ruffled the crown of her head as he stepped around her, walking unsteadily to stand in front of his trainer. "I'm ready."

"I know you are." He grabbed Edward's automail arm and turned him to go into the corridor that led up to the ring.

"Ed!"

Hesitating in the doorway, he looked back at Winry. "Don't die," she mouthed.

His trainer laughed, slapping Edward's shoulder, nearly sending him stumbling. "Don't worry, girl, he'll come back to you alive."

"Yeah," he whispered, almost wishing he dared – but he wouldn't, couldn't lie down and die. Not with Alphonse and Winry counting on him to live. "Yeah, Winry." Edward smiled, toothy, confident, the cocky smile she needed to see. "I'll see you soon." Turning abruptly, he started walking down that corridor, toward the ring, and his future.

* * *

_End_


	2. Beyond the Arena

_**Beyond the Arena  
**_

* * *

"Ed!"

He pried his eyes open, blinking blearily up at something yellow in front of him. A blue blur resolved itself into Winry's eyes, peering at him in worry. "'m alive," he coughed, then bit back a groan. Maybe he wasn't. No, he ached too damned much to be dead.

"I know," Winry said, "but you've been unconscious," her voice trailed off and she sat back.

His brain seemed as fuzzy as his sight, but Edward forced it to work, trying to remember what had happened. There'd been the fight against Father, and the old man died, and – oh. He sat up too fast, his head pounding and his gut aching, and Winry caught hold of his shoulder, trying to push him back down.

"Don't do that!" she scolded, "you lost a lot of blood." Her head tilted toward the saline drip that hung over his bed, a tube running down into his flesh arm. Winry swallowed and pushed on his shoulder again. "Lie down, Ed."

He tried to stay upright just to spite her, but gravity seemed to be pulling him down. With a groan, he collapsed against the bed. "How long?"

"A few days, since your fight." Winry couldn't look at him, and Edward knew without a doubt she'd been watching, forced to watch, maybe, while his opponent nearly gutted him. Yeah, he remembered that much now, the sight of his blood spilling out of his hands and onto the arena floor. The shouts from the stands. He remembered inhaling the stink of his own insides and wondering if he was going to make it out of the arena alive.

Obviously, this was his answer.

Ed shoved that thought aside. He was still alive, that was what mattered. "Al?"

"He's okay," Winry said, soothing. "I've been taking care of him." Unspoken was the fact that it had been when she'd leave his side. Edward remembered waking up out of fever dreams and finding her next to him, her hands cool as she replaced damp cloths on his forehead back when he was recovering from automail surgery. "He's worried, too. I'll tell him you're awake. Maybe he'll be able to come see you."

Contingent on whether their master thought it was worth his while. Edward wondered how Sorgai had taken his loss in the arena. Well, he was still alive, so the man had decided he wasn't expendable, at least, not yet. And Winry was allowed to be in his room, and she said Alphonse was all right, so. He tamped down the worry that threatened to bubble up in his chest about not seeing his brother and focused on Winry. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her cheeks were gaunt, telling him she'd been running herself ragged, taking care of them both. Edward frowned at her loose hair – usually, when she was taking care of someone, she had it up in a ponytail, or bound back in a bandana. Even in this new life of theirs, some things were still constants. He sighed, closing his eyes. "Tired," he muttered, then, "hungry."

"You can't eat yet. Or drink," Winry told him, "you've got a catheter in - "

Edward growled deep in his throat. Now that she mentioned it, he could feel the damned thing inside his penis. Which meant someone had to install it, and he didn't really want to know if she'd been the one to do it, or – no, not thinking about it.

" – and you know until you're healed up enough, you can't have it removed."

He knew the spiel. After all, he'd heard it before, even in that particular tone from Winry Rockbell, or from her grandmother, even when he yelled at them to take the stupid tube out of his dick, he could piss on his own. They'd always cackled and reminded him to not wriggle around so much, because glass tubes inside of penises could _break_ and – Edward shuddered, desperate to think of anything but that.

Opening his eyes again, he met Winry's. She glared at him, her usual expression when she was trying to hide how worried she was. Edward started to roll his eyes, but his vision was finally clearing up from whatever drugs they'd shoved into him and waking up from that blood-loss related coma. "Winry?"

"What, Ed?" she snapped back, more proof of her concern, as if he needed it. Her hair swung forward and she automatically swept it back behind her ear, revealing a darkened patch of skin, purple and green, haloed with dull yellow.

He knew better than to sit up so fast but did it anyway, the room spinning around him for a few seconds as he used his automail hand to brush her hair back, out of the way. His other arm stung from how the needle pulled when he caught hold of her chin with his flesh hand. "Who did this?" Edward rumbled, turning her face away from him. His fingers should've trembled when they brushed over the bruise; instead, they clenched into a fist.

"It doesn't matter, Ed." Winry caught his hand, his metal hand, and pulled it away from her face. When he opened his mouth to protest, she jerked her chin free, fixing him with a stare dark enough to quail him, even without a wrench anywhere in sight. "It. Doesn't. Matter. Now, lie down, and stop jerking your arm around. You could pull your needle free."

His stomach twitched at the thought of having to endure another needle poking into his arm, but Edward wasn't going to just let it go, no matter Winry glared. "Tell me."

"Why? So you can go beat someone up?" Winry laughed, a soft, bitter sound that cut him straight to the heart. "It really doesn't matter, Ed." She pushed at his shoulder again, half-heartedly trying to get him to lie down.

"It does," he insisted softly.

The muscles in her jaw flexed. "Ed, I mean it."

"So do I." Edward touched her cheek again, wishing he could feel with his right hand. Wishing his hand was warm and flesh, so he could offer Winry some sort of comfort with it. "I know I can't do anything about it right now, Winry, but." He let out a sigh through his teeth. "Things are going to change." Meeting her eyes, he repeated, "They will change. And you," he brushed his thumb over her bruised cheekbone, "you don't deserve any of this."

"Neither do you," she protested.

Edward gave her a crooked half-smile. "Yeah, but I'm used to it. I get into fights and trash my automail all the time. And then you yell at me, and scare Al, and we bitch at each other until the old hag drags us apart."

Winry didn't answer his smile. "That's all changed, Ed."

"Yeah." He pushed her hair farther back, over her shoulder. Leaning closer, he whispered in her ear, "But we'll figure a way to get it back. We're going to get out of this, all of us, together. You, me, Al, Granny; everyone."

After swallowing loud enough he could hear it, Winry asked, "You mean that, Ed?"

"Same way you meant I had to save everyone when it was just Father we had to worry about." Edward grinned as her face lit up in remembrance. "I'll make all of this a bad memory if you can just hold on a little while longer, okay?"

Winry sniffed, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand. "I'm supposed to be comforting you," she mumbled.

"I don't need any comforting." Edward grinned at her sour look, twirling a few strands of her hair around the tip of his finger.

"You're going to get hair in your finger joint."

Edward said, "I'm being careful," but let her hair slip off the metal digit. "I meant what I said, Winry."

"I know." She laid her hand against his chest, right above the thump of his heart. "Just be careful, okay? I don't know if I can take you getting this hurt again."

"I'll do my best." It wasn't what she wanted to hear, Edward knew, but he couldn't make the same promises he had before. There were things she needed to hear, things he wanted to tell her, but now wasn't the time, nor the place. Not with the two of them – not with all of them – in captivity, made into puppets to dance at the whim of their masters. "Go check on Al. Tell him I'm awake, and I'll see him soon." But he couldn't help but lean his cheek against hers, breathing her familiar scent as deep as his aching ribs and body would let him.

He'd have to heal fast, he knew. Sorgai wouldn't wait forever, and his trainer would be pushing to get him back into the ring. Edward had other plans, though – to get strong and break the shackles holding them down now.

Letting Winry pull away, Edward watched as she headed toward the door. She hesitated in the opening, turning to give him a smile. Edward answered it with his best cocky grin, letting it fade only after the door closed behind her. Looking down at the needle in his arm, Edward warned it, "You're not going to be there long. I've got too much to do to lie around in this bed forever." People were waiting for him, and he had a promise to live up to.

And the Fullmetal Alchemist didn't break his promises.


End file.
